


For the First Time in Forever

by Nicnac



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Frozen AU, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: Princes Aziraphale of Arendelle and Crowley of the Southern Isles have been arranged to be married practically since the day they were born. This suits both boys perfectly well. Until one day with no warning or explanation as far as Crowley can tell, the arranged marriage and diplomatic ties are dissolved, and the royal family of Arendelle all but completely shuts themselves off from the world. Twelve years later the castle gates are finally opening up again for the soon-to-be King Aziraphale's coronation. Despite his parents' objections, Crowley is determined to go and figure just what happened to his best friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Frozen AU. Because another Good Omens fusion AU is definitely what I need to be adding to my life right now. Shout out to all you lovely people who enabled me on tumblr, especially summerofspock and themoonmothwrites and especially especially seaskystone (aka Atalan here on AO3) who made a few key contributions including Shem the snow unicorn.

Crowley clung to the shadows as he snuck quietly down the dark hallway, making his way to Aziraphale’s room. He didn’t need to sneak really; no one was up and about at this time of night except the guards, and they didn’t usually come this deep into the castle unless there was a good reason. But, if Crowley was going to be sneaking around in the middle of the night, he was going to _sneak_. It felt right creeping around and slipping carefully through the door, shutting it softly behind him.

“What are you doing up?” hissed a voice from the far side of the room.

Crowley grinned and, forgetting all about being sneaky, ran across the room and jumped onto the bed. He bounced twice, then sat up with his legs crossed. “You’re up too,” he pointed out. There was a single candle flickering on the bedside table, and Aziraphale was propped up against his pillows, book in hand.

“Well, you know, I’m not really up. I’m just reading,” Aziraphale protested. “And anyway you know I don’t sleep much.”

He didn’t say “unlike you,” but Crowley heard it. He shrugged. “It’s too bright outside.” Crowley’s eyes didn’t handle bright lights well – he had to wear sunglasses during the day – and the Northern Lights were going crazy right now. “The sky’s awake, so I’m awake, so let’s do something.”

“We can’t do anything. You’re not even supposed to be in here right now,” Aziraphale said.

“No one cares,” Crowley said. Aziraphale gave him a flat look and Crowley made a face back. “Fine. But they shouldn’t care. It’s not like we’re doing anything. And anyway we’re going to be married someday, so it wouldn’t even matter if we were doing something.”

“But we’re not married yet, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, soft and insistent. “So we shouldn’t be doing ‘anything.’ We can’t.” Crowley pressed his lips together. He hadn’t meant it like that. Not mostly.

He flopped back onto Aziraphale’s bed with an exaggerated sigh. Aziraphale looked away and licked his lips nervously. Crowley’s eyes latched onto the motion and then he couldn’t look away. He’d kissed those lips two days ago. He had. It had been ages since they’d seen each other, not since last summer, and after the whole big ceremony with the royal family of Arendelle welcoming the delegation from the Southern Isles, blah, blah, blah, Crowley had pulled Aziraphale out to the garden and asked if he could try something. Aziraphale had said yes, so Crowley had sort of just… pushed him up against a tree and kissed him. On the mouth. And he still didn’t really get why adults made such a big deal over it, but he had liked it and wanted to do it again. Aziraphale didn’t though. Not yet. Crowley could tell. Crowley could always tell when Aziraphale meant no even when he didn’t say it, just like he could tell when Aziraphale said no and didn’t really mean it.

He didn’t think anyone else got it. How when Aziraphale wrung his hands and scrunched his eyebrows together in just that way it meant “please stop,” and when instead his eyes did the little sideways dart motion in your direction it meant, “convince me.” Aziraphale’s parents definitely didn’t get it. But Crowley got it, and Aziraphale knew he got it, which Crowley figured was the most important thing.

He rolled onto his stomach, rested his chin in his hands, and grinned up at his best friend, his betrothed, the best and most important person in the whole wide world that Crowley was definitely going to get to kiss again someday when he was ready for it. “Hey, Aziraphale.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale eyes darted sidewise to look at him. Crowley’s grin grew.

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

“A snowman, we can’t build a snowman,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley could see the way he corners of his lips were twitching upward.

“Course we can. You’ve just got to do a little…” Crowley held his hands in front of him and wiggled his fingers in Aziraphale’s direction.

“I can’t do that,” Aziraphale said sounding scandalized, though really Crowley didn’t know how else Aziraphale was expecting them to make snowmen. It was summer; there wasn’t any snow outside. “You know I’m not allowed to use my powers until your parents and all the other Southern Isles people leave for the summer. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you I have them.”

“Everyone else doesn’t leave for another week,” Crowley said.

“And then we have two whole months to make snowmen in before we have to take you back home,” said Aziraphale.

“But I’m awake now. I don’t want to wait another week,” Crowley whined. “Besides, making snowmen will be good practice for you with your powers, won’t it?”

“Practice?” Aziraphale repeated, his voice lilting up just a little bit. Oh yes, Crowley had him.

“Practice. You can’t get better at using your powers if you don’t practice,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s book had been sitting open in his lap, but now he stuck his finger in it to hold his place and shut it. “My parents do want me to master my powers.”

“Exactly!” said Crowley. “And what better time to practice than at the middle of the night when no one’s around to get in the way and bother you?”

“Except for you,” Aziraphale said.

“Except for me,” Crowley agreed, still grinning.

“Oh all right,” Aziraphale said, pretending he was reluctant like Crowley couldn’t see right through him. He grabbed his bookmark and placed his book down on the bedside table.

Meanwhile, Crowley had rolled back over and leaped off the bed. He danced impatiently as he waited for Aziraphale to put his stupid slippers on. “Your feet don’t even get cold,” he said.

“But they can get dirty,” said Aziraphale, looking pointedly down at Crowley’s bare feet.

Crowley responded by kicking one of his legs up so Aziraphale could see the bottom of his foot and then looked at it himself. “Yep, pretty dirty. Now c’mon, let’s go.”

He reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale twined their fingers together, and the two of them raced down the hall to the ballroom.

As soon as they shut the double doors behind them, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Alright, let’s see the magic.”

Aziraphale gave him a look like he was an idiot and pointed at that coat closet in the corner of the room.

“Fine,” Crowley said, sighing heavily as he trudged over there. Aziraphale’s parents probably would have preferred if they could make him practice his magic outside all the time, but that wasn’t always possible. And inside, the ballroom was the only place even remotely big enough for Aziraphale to really let his powers out. So the king and queen had had the room redecorated with things that wouldn’t get water damage and set up a coat closet in the corner full of cold weather gear. Crowley’s old stuff from last year didn’t fit him anymore – his mom said he’d been growing like a weed and he was starting to look like one too – and they hadn’t stocked the closet with new ones for this year yet, so he grabbed some of Aziraphale’s things. Not that Aziraphale needed to wear warm clothing, he didn’t get cold, but his parents made him put it on anyway because they were dumb.

Once he was all covered up, he stalked back over to Aziraphale and stuck his tongue out at him. “There, happy now?”

“This is serious, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “The cold is dangerous; it kills people. I don’t want you to get sick or hurt because of me.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Crowley said. He buried his face in his scarf trying to hide his expression and pretend like he didn’t secretly like it when Aziraphale fussed over him. Crowley’s parents fussed over him too, sometimes, when they remembered, when they weren’t distracted by one of Crowley’s eleven older siblings, but it always meant more coming from Aziraphale. “So are we going to do some magic or what?”

Aziraphale smiled at him. Crowley suspected he hadn’t been fooled by Crowley’s very smooth face-in-the-scarf manoeuvre. He held his hands up and twirled them about one another. Blue light appeared and after a moment a snowball was floating suspended in the air between his hands. “Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale threw the snowball up in the air. It exploded apart into a thousand fragments, each one multiplying as it drifted down until a massive pile of snow had fallen, leaving a perfectly clear space in the centre where the two of them were standing. “You’re amazing,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale ducked his head and blushed. “Thank you. Oh, and look what else I learned.” He stomped his foot on the ground and gave it a little twist. Ice spread from his foot and across the floor until it was covering the room from wall to wall. “I’ve almost got it thick enough to skate on,” he added excitedly.

“Oh yeah, I bet I can skate across it right now,” Crowley said. He took off running and allowed his borrowed boots to slip and slide across the ice until they slipped right out from under him and he fell to the ground laughing.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, picking his way across the snow in Crowley’s direction.

“’M fine,” Crowley answered once he’d stopped laughing enough to do it. “Told you I could skate.”

“You didn’t skate, you slid and fell,” said Aziraphale.

“I’ll show you sliding and falling.” Crowley sat up, crossed his legs, and pushed himself across the ice. He slid faster and faster and rammed himself right into Aziraphale’s legs, sending him toppling over.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped. Crowley tried to get up and dart away, but before he could Aziraphale shoved a hand that was magically suddenly filled with snow down the back of Crowley’s shirt.

“That’s cheating!” Crowley said. He tried to gather up his own handful of snow to shove down Aziraphale’s shirt, but Crowley actually had to pick the snow up off the ground, unlike some people, and by the time he’d done that, Aziraphale had already gotten away. Instead Crowley took a running leap at him and tackled him into another snow drift. “Got you.”

Aziraphale didn’t look like he was plotting his next move. He didn’t look defeated either. He was just looking up at Crowley with a really weird expression, then he licked his lips again and, oh, their faces were really close together, weren’t they? Close enough that Crowley could – Aziraphale’s eyebrows scrunched together and he looked away. Crowley rolled off him and flopped down onto the snow.

“I like your snow,” Crowley said. “It’s way better than regular snow.”

“You’ve never even seen regular snow,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t wrong. Arendelle got lots of snow in the winter according to Aziraphale, but Crowley was only ever here in the summer, and it didn’t snow in the Southern Isles at all.

Crowley shrugged. He looked over at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. “Yours is still better. I can just tell.”

Aziraphale smiled and his cheeks flushed. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Course I do,” Crowley said. He reached over to nudge Aziraphale’s hand with his own. “You made it; why wouldn’t I like it?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I just…”

Crowley turned his head to look at Aziraphale straight on. “Sometimes you what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Aziraphale said. “Did you say you wanted to build a snowman?”

That was changing the subject, but Crowley decided he’d let him. “Nah, we’ve built tons of snowmen. Let’s build a snow… snow-something.”

“A snow horse,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley was pretty sure Aziraphale was suggesting that to tease him because he knew how much Crowley hated horses. But those were horses, and this was a snow horse. They were completely different. And a snow horse sounded like a real challenge to make.

It was a challenge, and they had to cheat and use Aziraphale’s powers some, and the horse still came out a little lopsided, but the finished product was definitely a horse.

“He’s missing something,” Crowley declared when he stepped back to look at their creation.

“A saddle and bridle?” suggested Aziraphale.

Crowley shook his head. “No, Shem’s a free spirit; he wouldn’t let just anyone ride him.” That gave him the perfect idea for what was missing, and he grabbed two big handfuls of snow and started shaping it

“Shem?” Aziraphale said.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Were you thinking of a different name?” Crowley asked.

“Well, Olaf, but I guess that’s more of a snowman name, not a snow horse,” Aziraphale said.

“He’s not a snow horse,” Crowley said. He finished shaping the cone of snow in his hands and placed it on the centre of Shem’s forehead. “He’s a snow unicorn.”

Aziraphale’s whole face brightened. “A unicorn!”

“Thought you’d like that,” said Crowley, feeling a warm flush of pride and joy at seeing how happy he’d made Aziraphale. “And now that he’s done, we can make your Olaf the snowman if you like.”

“Oh, but with a unicorn, it has to be a snow maiden, doesn’t it?”

Crowley shrugged. “Don’t see why it can’t be both.” That was probably more snow beings than he really wanted to make tonight, but he could be up for it if that was what Aziraphale wanted to do. Plus if it got really boring he could try convincing Aziraphale to make one of the snow people just by using his magic. Crowley always loved watching Aziraphale do magic.

“I don’t think we have time to do both. In fact” – Aziraphale’s face got all fretful – “I don’t think we have time to do either. It’s getting really late.”

Crowley scowled. He didn’t like that. It was getting late, and honestly Crowley was getting tired, but he didn’t want to say any of that out loud. If he said it out loud, then that meant it was time for Aziraphale to sweep all the ice and snow out the window and then for the two of them to go back upstairs and into their separate bedrooms all alone. Crowley probably wouldn’t even mind the first part that much if he could go back to Aziraphale’s bedroom and lie down on the bed across from Aziraphale or even on the couch on the other side of the room and the two of them could keep talking until he fell asleep. But if they did that they would definitely get caught and get in trouble. Even then Crowley would have done it, but Aziraphale hated it when either of them got in trouble. So if he wanted to keep hanging out, he’d have to keep them up.

Crowley glanced around the room, then grinned when he spotted the little hill of snow they’d created while making Shem. “Catch me,” he said as he took off racing toward it.

“What? I’m not going to chase you; it’s late,” Aziraphale protested.

“Don’t chase me. Catch me,” Crowley repeated, as he reached the top of the hill and jumped off. At the last second Aziraphale understood what Crowley was saying and shot a burst of magic, creating another hill of snow for Crowley to land on. Crowley planted his feet, then pushed off again, sailing through the air and coming down on another newly created hill, this one a little taller than the last one. “I bet we could get all the way to the ceiling doing this,” he declared, and jumped again.

He kept jumping from one hill to the next, going quicker each time. Quicker and quicker until he was barely touching down before he leaped off again, was practically sprinting form one to the next. “Wait, stop,” Aziraphale called, but Crowley didn’t want to stop. He was having fun with Aziraphale and he didn’t ever want to stop, to have to go back up to his bedroom, quiet and alone and cold. Somehow everywhere was always colder without Aziraphale around. “Slow down! You go too fast for me, Crowl—“

Crowley saw it happen. Saw the how Aziraphale’s slippers – slippers, he was still wearing slippers, he’d made Crowley go change and put on heavy boots, but Aziraphale was still wearing slippers – slid on the ice, sending Aziraphale tumbling to the ground. He saw the panicked expression on Aziraphale’s face as he looked up at Crowley, still flying through the air. _Oh_ , Crowley thought. _Oh. He’s not going to catch me._ For one short eternal moment, Crowley fell. The Aziraphale’s hand shot up, and everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific content warnings for: canon-typical abusive behavior from Gabriel and Michael, with the addendum that they are Aziraphale’s parents in this one. Fantasy racism from Crowley’s father leading to real dehumanizing language directed toward Aziraphale. And not surprisingly Aziraphale has the beginnings of a panic attack.
> 
> (Agnes is really nice though, so there’s that at least... This is not a happy chapter, y’all.)

Someone was screaming. Aziraphale wished they’d stop. He wished they would just shut up for a minute so he could focus on Crowley, who was… he was…

Crowley was supposed to be warm. Crowley was always warm. The sunshine of his smile and his hand pressed in Aziraphale’s as he dragged them off into some mischief. The hearth-fire of his side pressed against Aziraphale’s, his chest pressed to Aziraphale’s back, his legs lying Aziraphale’s lap, his body draped over Aziraphale’s in increasingly ridiculous ways every evening. The fierce scorching heat of his lips pressed against Aziraphale’s which had exhilarated Aziraphale just as much as it had terrified him. That was Crowley. But now, Aziraphale held his best friend, his – his only, his Crowley to his chest, and he was cold.

There was a sudden sharp stinging in Aziraphale’s cheek as someone slapped him across the face, and the room fell silent. Oh. That had been him that was screaming, then.

“Gabriel,” Mother snapped. She and Father were both here now, crouched in front of him. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed them come in.

“Well, I had to do something; he was hysterical,” Father said.

“That doesn’t mean you needed to slap him,” said Mother.

“I’m sorry, Michael. Would you rather me let him keep screaming and wake the whole castle up? Did you want our guests to come in here and see all this?” Father threw his arms up to gesture to the room at large. It was much icier that Aziraphale remembered it being. He whimpered a little and pulled Crowley in closer, trying to protect him from the cold. But how could he, when the cold was inside of him, when Aziraphale was the one who, who…

Mother pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. “Thank you,” Father said. “Now with any luck—“

The double doors to the ballroom burst open. On the other side was the King Rigel and Queen Cassandra of the Southern Isles, Crowley’s parents, and behind them was Crowley’s youngest older sister, Beelzebub.

“What is all this racket?” King Rigel demanded as he walked into the room, only to falter when he saw the state it was in. “What the devil is going on here?”

Mother and Father shared a look, but neither of them said anything. Aziraphale knew that he should be quiet too, but the weight of the silence pressed on him until he couldn’t hold back the tide of words. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. We were playing, and I… I…”

As soon as Aziraphale had started talking, King Rigel had rushed across the room to him. He got down on his knees and leaned in and he was trying to _take Crowley away from him_. Aziraphale flinched away automatically, clutching Crowley closer. The lines of King Rigel’s face hardened. “You will hand my son over to me,” he said.

“Aziraphale,” Mother said, soft but stern. She gently pried Crowley from Aziraphale’s grasp and handed him over to the king.

Aziraphale curled in on himself. This was better. Crowley needed to be warm. Aziraphale was a person of ice and snow and cold. He wasn’t… he couldn’t… Tears formed frozen tracks down his cheeks. It was better this way. Crowley needed to be warm.

Mother pulled Aziraphale into her arms. Aziraphale tensed. “Do try to present yourself with some composure,” she said. It was what Aziraphale had expected, but for once her voice suggested that the effort was all that was expected of him, regardless of success, and her arms remained wrapped warmly around him. Aziraphale assumed they were warm; he couldn’t really feel it. He tried to breathe deeply and control his tears.

Father snapped at King Rigel, bringing Aziraphale’s attention back to their conversation. “Well, if you’d rather do nothing and let him die,” he said.

Aziraphale stifled a keening noise and gripped onto Mother’s arm so tightly he turned his already pale knuckles even whiter. Crowley couldn’t… he couldn’t – this was all Aziraphale’s fault. If he had been more careful, if he had better control over his powers, if he had never let Crowley talk him into breaking the rules in the first place, then none of this would have happened and Crowley wouldn’t be, he wouldn’t. Aziraphale hitched in a shuddery breath and pretended it wasn’t a sob.

“Fine, we’ll seek out this solution of yours. But once Crowley is healed, we are leaving and there will be no more talk of alliances between us.” King Rigel turned to Queen Cassandra. “Rouse the rest of our people and prepare the ship so we may leave at my return.”

Queen Cassandra nodded. “Come along, Beelzebub.”

“But I want to see what happens,” Beelzebub protested.

“I said come along,” Queen Cassandra repeated. She laid a hand on Beelzebub’s shoulder and half-guided and half-dragged her out of the room.

“We’ll have to go to the library first; the map we need is there,” Father said. He and King Rigel both stood up, Crowley still cradled in King Rigel’s arms.

Aziraphale’s grip tightened once again. Crowley was leaving, Crowley was leaving, and he wasn’t coming back, and Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. “Mother,” he pleaded.

Mother placed a soft hand in his hair. “Aziraphale and I will have the horses readied,” she said.

For just a moment, the weight on Aziraphale’s chest lightened the smallest amount. He was going to go with them. He would get to see Crowley healed before he left. And maybe he would get a chance to say ( _I’m sorry, please don’t go, please come back, I’m sorry, I love you, you’re my best friend, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you_ ) goodbye. Then King Rigel spoke. “That monster isn’t coming with us.” And Aziraphale shattered.

Mother drew herself imperiously – no one could do imperious like Mother, not even Father – “ _My_ _son_ will be coming. Or would you prefer to run the risk of him not being there and finding his powers are necessary for the cure?”

Crowley’s father’s expression soured. “It can come. But keep it as far away from my son as possible.”

Mother glared at him one more time, and then she grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and the two of them hurried toward the stables. Hurried, but didn’t run. Aziraphale wanted to run, but royalty didn’t run, it was beneath their dignity to run, so they didn’t run; they hurried.

Once they reached the stables Mother roused the staff to begin saddling horses for father and King Rigel, and began preparing her own horse herself. “You’ll ride with me,” she told Aziraphale as she double-checked all the straps were secure. “You’d slow us down on your own.”

“Yes, Mother,” Aziraphale agreed. Anything, if it meant Crowley would be alright.

Mother paused a moment. She looked down at him and put her hands on his shoulders. “You are not a monster,” she said.

“I know. My powers are a gift,” Aziraphale recited quietly, his hands clenched together.

“Exactly,” Mother said. “You just need to learn better control of them, and you won’t be having little mishaps like this anymore.”

Aziraphale nodded, twisting his fingers between each other. “I know King Rigel was just upset because it’s my fault Crowley is—“

“Crowley is going to be fine,” Mother interrupted. “Just so long as we hurry. Now, come on, up on the horse.”

By the time Aziraphale had been lifted into the saddle and the three horses brought out to the courtyard, Father and King Rigel had retrieved the map from the library. They mounted as well, Crowley held securely between King Rigel’s arms. The five of them thundered out into the night, Father leading the way deep into the woods. The journey lasted forever, or maybe it just seemed that way to Aziraphale who felt each passing moment stretching out longer than the last. Finally they reached a clearing, filled with strange round rocks and Father dismounted.

“Trolls!” he cried. “Trolls, your king has need of you.”

For a long minute there was no response. Then one of the rocks slowly unrolled on itself, revealing a stout no-nonsense troll woman. “Your Majesty,” she said. She inclined her head in a motion that was not a bow. It was barely even a nod.

Father was incensed, but before he could object to the lack of respect, King Rigel burst forward, gently cradling Crowley in his arms. “My son, can you save my son?”

The troll looked at Crowley a moment, then turned to Aziraphale. Aziraphale had dismounted from Mother’s horse and had been rocking back and forth slightly, wanting to come in closer to see Crowley – just to see him, he wouldn’t touch him, he wouldn’t hurt him, he just wanted to see him – but not daring to after what King Rigel had said. “Come here,” the troll said, motioning him over with her hand.

Aziraphale glanced over at King Rigel, who pulled Crowley in closer to himself and took a step back, but didn’t object. Aziraphale nodded and walked up to the troll. “Hello, my child,” she said.

“Please,” Aziraphale croaked. “Please, save Crowley.”

“All will be well,” she told him. She took his hands and held them between hers. “Tell me, Highness, how did you come about your powers?”

“He was born with them,” Father said.

The troll glanced at him, then turned back to Aziraphale. “Highness?”

Aziraphale licked his lips. He glanced over at Mother and Father, then looked back at the troll. She was still watching him patiently, a faint smile on her face. Aziraphale nodded. “I was born with them.”

“Good. Naturally-given powers are easier to work with,” she said.

“There’s nothing _natural_ about—“

The troll interrupted King Rigel. “Did you not hear the boy just say he was born with them? You don’t get more natural than that,” she retorted. “Now bring your child in close so I can heal him.”

King Rigel glared and tried to shuffle Crowley as far away from Aziraphale as possible while complying, but found it difficult. While the troll had held one hand out to Crowley, the other had not let go of Aziraphale’s and her arms weren’t very long. This brought Crowley closer to Aziraphale than he had been since Aziraphale had to let go of him in the ballroom, and Aziraphale noticed something he hadn’t before. Nestled amidst the bright red strands of Crowley’s hair was a single long streak of frozen white. Aziraphale’s breath hitched.

“Ah see, only a small head wound,” the troll said. “Had it been the heart it would have been difficult, but the head is more easily persuaded.”

“You can heal him, then” King Rigel said.

“I can,” the troll said. She placed a hand on Crowley’s head, then pulled it away, bringing with it glittering lights that she then held between both hands. “I recommend we remove all magic, even memories of magic to be safe.”

“Crowley won’t remember I have powers?” Aziraphale asked, thinking of the two of them lying side-by-side in the snow earlier that night, a lifetime ago.

“No, he won’t. But don’t worry, I leave the fun.” She parted her hands again, and used the one to gently guide the lights she was holding back into Crowley’s head. “There. He will be okay.”

Aziraphale felt a knot loosen in his chest. He closed his eyes tight, tight, tighter, and was able to keep all but one single tear from escaping. Crowley was okay. He was okay.

“His hair,” King Rigel protested. “Why is his hair still like that?”

“Some wounds take time to heal. And some scars never fade,” the troll said. “To be safe, I would advise not reminding him of the young prince’s powers. Not for a while at least.”

“Would that bring his injury back?” King Rigel asked.

“I have done all I can, but even my powers have limits,” the troll replied.

“Very well.” King Rigel gathered Crowley up close and stepped away. Aziraphale watched Crowley closely, desperately, looking for any flutter of his eyelids, any sign of stirring so Aziraphale could say something, anything to him before he was taken away forever, but there was nothing. King Rigel glared at Father and Mother. “It seems I will have to keep your secret after all, for my son’s sake. But God help you if you fail to keep that abomination of yours in line.”

“Now see here—” Father started, but the troll interrupted him.

“Perhaps it best you leave now,” she suggested and placed a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Startled, Aziraphale tore his eyes away from Crowley for just a moment to find her giving King Rigel a very dismissive look.

“Indeed,” King Rigel said. He flicked his eyes up and down the troll’s form. “Thank you for saving my son. We shall not be returning.” He mounted back on his borrowed horse, and then Crowley was going, going, gone.

Crowley was gone. He was okay, that was the most important part he was okay, if he hadn’t been okay, Aziraphale didn’t know what – but he was okay, he was okay. But he was _gone_. Gone forever. He wouldn’t ever – he wouldn’t ever sprawl face down on the table again and complain about what a slow eater Aziraphale was only to sneak into the kitchens later to get him more snacks. He wouldn’t suddenly jump on Aziraphale from behind and demand they go play. He wouldn’t sneak into Aziraphale’s room at night and curl up on top of the covers just to listen to Aziraphale read for a while. He wouldn’t ever smile at Aziraphale like Aziraphale was the best thing he’d ever seen. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t promise to spend the rest of his life with Aziraphale just the two of them together, side-by-side, and Aziraphale couldn’t _breathe_. He couldn’t breathe and Crowley wasn’t here to hold his hand and sit next to him comforting and kind and warm and he never would be again. He was never… never, never –

Aziraphale suddenly took in a great gasping breath. The troll had placed her hand on Aziraphale’s back and his airways had opened up. Crowley was still gone and that still was… was not okay, but he could think around it again.

The troll smiled at him. “I told you before, young prince, all will be well. Just bear this in mind: your powers truly are a gift, a beautiful gift. And as you grow, so too will they grow in strength and beauty. If there is any danger here to be found, it’s in the fear, not the powers. All will yet be well.” She cradled Aziraphale’s hands in hers, and even though he could clearly see her hands were made of craggy rock, in that moment he swore they felt soft and warm.

Father placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and pulled him back, jerking Aziraphale’s hands out of the troll’s. “Yes, great, thank you for the, ah… words of wisdom. And for helping us out of that tricky situation we found ourselves in there, but we really ought to be going now. It’s a long journey back, especially since we’ve got to walk part of the way.” The last bit was said with a pointed look at Mother, who was gently stroking her horse’s forehead.

“The horses are worn out,” Mother retorted. “Bad enough that Rigel rode his back; I’m not having my darling succumb to exhaustion.”

“See, long journey back. Let’s go, Aziraphale,” Father said. He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder, then let go, meaning Aziraphale had a few moments to say something to the troll before Father got impatient.

The trouble was what to say to her. She had saved Crowley’s life, she had stood up for Aziraphale to King Rigel, she had held Aziraphale’s hand and told him everything was going to be okay when Aziraphale was panicking, _she had saved Crowley’s life_. There weren’t words, or maybe there were too many of them, crowding up Aziraphale’s throat and choking him. “Thank you, your... your Grace,” he finally managed.

“Agnes Nutter is my name, your Highness.” She gave as deep a bow as she could with her round stone body. “And it was my pleasure. You and yours will always be welcome here, Prince Aziraphale.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale repeated. “I, uh –”

“Aziraphale,” Father snapped.

“Sorry, thank you, goodbye,” Aziraphale blurted out quickly to Agnes before scurrying over to Father and Mother. Father put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder again, and this time he didn’t let go. Still as they walked away Aziraphale looked back at Agnes. She had turned to look inward at the other stones in the clearing, which were one by one uncurling into other trolls. Then, at the very back of the group, Aziraphale spotted a girl. Not a troll, but a human girl who was probably a few years younger than Aziraphale. What was she doing there? Was she… did she have powers like Aziraphale? Is that why she was there, and how Agnes knew so much about Aziraphale having powers? Maybe he could back out tomorrow and ask about the girl and ask about what Agnes meant when she said –

“Don’t worry,” said Father.

Aziraphale’s head jerked around to look at him. “What?”

“I know that troll scared you with all that talk about danger and fear, but you don’t have to worry. Your mother and I will protect you. You can learn to control your powers. Until then, we'll lock the gates. We'll reduce the staff. We will limit your contact with people, and keep your powers hidden from everyone.”

“You’re shutting down the castle?” Aziraphale asked, dazed and unable to process what Father was saying. They were shutting down the castle and locking him inside. Crowley was _gone,_ and Aziraphale was going to be locked inside the castle, all alone.

“Just until you learn how to control your powers so people don’t have any reason to be afraid of you anymore,” Father said. “We’re doing this for you, kid, so you need to buckle down and learn how to control those things, alright?”

Aziraphale’s expression drew tight, and his hands clenched together in front of him. “Alright. I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific content warning for more canon-level abuse from Gabriel and Michael.
> 
> As a quick note on how I'm working Arendelle politics: It's a monarchy but a person must be 21 to be crowned king or queen. As Aziraphale's parents die prior to his 21st birthday, he rules as prince regent for a number of years before he is crowned king.

**One Day After**

Crowley woke up confused and with a pounding headache. He moaned loudly, partially because it hurt, and partially to get Aziraphale’s attention.

“Oh my darling, you’re awake,” Mom said. What was she doing here? He must have been hurt worse than he thought.

Crowley opened his eyes to find not only was Mom there, but Dad too. And even Beelzebub sitting just behind them looking mostly disinterested. They weren’t in his room or Aziraphale’s room or any of the other rooms in Arendelle. They were somewhere he recognized, but his head hurt and he couldn’t say where he recognized it from. “What happened? Where’s Aziraphale?”

“There was an accident. You were hurt pretty badly,” Mom explained. As though Crowley hadn’t figured that much out for himself.

“Where’s Aziraphale?” he repeated. He should be here. If Crowley had gotten into an accident it was probably because he’d done something stupid while they were playing together, and he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t leave his side until he was feeling better.

There was a pause. Mom looked at Dad, whose expression was firm and foreboding. “We’re heading back to the Southern Isles, darling,” Mom said. Oh, that’s where they were, in the cabin of their ship. Crowley recognized it now.

Wait.

“We’re going home? Why are we going home? I’m not hurt that bad,” Crowley protested. They couldn’t go home; they’d only just gotten to Arendelle.

“Not hurt that bad?” Dad shouted. “You nearly—” His word choked off and he covered his mouth with his hand. Was he _crying_?

Mom placed her hand on Dad’s shoulder and squeezed. Dad leaned into her and closed his eyes. She placed a kiss on his forehead, then turned back to Crowley. “You very nearly died, darling.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. He didn’t… he didn’t like that. “Well, if we’re going home does that mean I have to wait until next summer to see Aziraphale again? Or can he come stay in the Sothern Isles this summer instead?” That would be fun. Aziraphale had come out to visit them before, but usually only for a week or so at the end of the summer when they brought Crowley home from Arendelle.

“You won’t be seeing that… _boy_ , again,” Dad said. Crowley flinched away. Dad sounded so mean.

Mom reached out and touched Crowley gently on the arm. “Our diplomatic relations have been dissolved and the engagement has been called off,” she said.

“What?” Crowley said, sitting upright in alarm. “What? No you can’t—“

“We can, and we have,” Dad said.

“At least let me say good-bye. He’s my best friend, I have to—“

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mom said.

“You don’t understand; I have to,” Crowley insisted. “I have to. He’s going to think it’s all his fault. He always blames himself for things. I have to tell him it’s okay, it’s not his fault.”

“You can’t, because we’ve already left,” Beelzebub drawled from off to the side.

Crowley’s eyes went wide. He jumped out of his bunk, pushed past his parents and raced out onto the deck. He ran back to the prow of the ship, nearly flinging himself overboard with the force with which he hit the railing. Arendelle was still visible, but was rapidly retreating into the distance.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley screamed. “Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” Dad came up behind him and placed his hand on his shoulder. Crowley jerked away, snarling. “Aziraphale! Aziraphale, it’s not your fault! I’ll find a way to come back! Aziraphale!”

Crowley screamed and screamed until his throat was raw with it. His screams gave way into great wracking sobs as he collapsed to his knees. Aziraphale was gone. Aziraphale was gone and he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

This time when Dad reached for him Crowley collapsed into his arms and cried into his chest for what felt like hours.

**Three Days After**

Aziraphale stared at the floor next to his bed. It was right there, close enough to touch. He just had to slip his foot out from under the covers and onto the floor, same as he’d done thousands of times before. He inched his foot over and slowly began to lower it.

The walls began to close in, tighter and tighter, trapping him, suffocating him. His breathing got quicker and quicker as he struggled to get enough air in his lungs. His veins flooded with pure panic.

His foot shot back up, and he clutched his pillow to his face trying to calm himself. It was okay. Everything was okay. His bed was safe. There was no one to hurt here. There was nothing trapping him here. He was stuck in bed alone, but because he was choosing to be. It was fine. Everything was fine.

The door to his bedroom banged open. “Are you still in bed?” Father said. “It’s been three days.”

“I know,” Aziraphale mumbled into his pillow.

“Look, we were willing to let it slide for a little while since it was honestly convenient to have you out of the way while we were working on shutting things down here anyway, but enough moping, son.”

“I’m not moping,” Aziraphale said. Moping was what he tried to pretend he wasn’t doing whenever Crowley normally left after the summer. This was bigger than that.

“Aziraphale,” Father said sharply. “How old are you?”

Aziraphale burrowed deeper into his pillow, feeling stupid and small.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Father demanded. Aziraphale obediently rolled over. “How old are you?”

“Eight,” Aziraphale answered softly.

“Eight, practically nine years old; act like it. You’re too old to laze about moping.”

“Yes, sir,” Aziraphale said.

“Good. Now get up,” Father said.

Aziraphale scooted over to the side of the bed. It was only the thought of what Father would say that kept his breathing calm and even. He turned and sat up, his feet dangling over the side of the bed. His hands clutched tightly at the sheets, ice crystals forming in the spaces between his fingers. As slowly as he dared, he lowered himself until his feet hit the stone floor. Nothing happened. Still, the panic didn’t go away.

“There. Get dressed and come down for breakfast,” Father said, before turning around and leaving.

Aziraphale did as he was told. He did his best to ignore the frost that formed with every step of his feet.

**Eleven Months After**

“But it’s summer. I always stay in Arendelle for the summer,” Crowley said.

“Not anymore. We explained this to you last year,” Dad said.

“That was a year ago, and anyway you haven’t explained anything,” Crowley snapped back.

“There was an incident last year shortly after we arrived in Arendelle. While we have declined to take up any sort of antagonistic stance for the moment, all diplomatic ties between our countries have been severed and the arranged marriage between yourself and the Prince of Arendelle has been dissolved,” Dad said, reciting it by rote.

“That’s not an explanation,” said Crowley. What diplomatic incident? There hadn’t been a diplomatic incident; Crowley hurting himself playing was not a diplomatic incident.

“It’s more explanation than I owe you. I am your father and you will do as I tell you,” Dad commanded.

Crowley screamed, a wordless cry of anger and frustration. “Are you quite done?” Dad asked, full of dry condescension.

“No,” Crowley snarled.

“Very well. Then you are confined to your quarters until you can learn to behave yourself.”

Three people were needed to drag Crowley back to his room, and he stayed locked in there for another week. In the end it took his oldest brother Lucifer to get him out. He came to Crowley’s room, sat down on his bed, looked Crowley in the eye and, sounding like the whole thing bored him, asked Crowley what he thought he was going to accomplish while he was locked up in his room. An hour later Crowley was promising his parents that he was done throwing his tantrum and he would not lose his temper like that again. It was hardly Crowley’s fault that neither of them noticed that wasn’t the same thing as promising to behave himself. 

**Three Years After**

“Gloves?” Aziraphale asked, looking down at the opened package in his hands.

“Yes, for your… thing,” Father said.

“We thought that since your ice normally comes out of your hands, covering them up might afford you a greater degree of control,” Mother explained.

“Conceal it and you won’t feel it,” Father added.

“I see,” Aziraphale said. He slipped the gloves on. The fabric clung to his fingers, another layer closing in around him. He smiled at his parents. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Father said. “Happy birthday.”

**Six Years After**

Every other week for the past six years or so, a servant had come into Crowley’s room with henna to dye his single white streak to match the red of the rest of his hair. Over time they had perfected the mixture of the dye so it wasn’t noticeable at all unless you knew exactly where to look for it. Crowley doubted many people even knew the streak was there, that single long white-blond strand that had showed up that summer six years ago.

This evening when the servant came to Crowley’s room, Crowley was ready for him, his arms crossed and expression firm. “No,” Crowley said.

The servant came to a tripping halt, staring at Crowley in confusion. “No? But your Highness–”

“I said, no,” Crowley repeated. “I will not be dyeing my hair anymore.”

“But your royal parents—”

“If they care that much, then they can come here and force me to dye it themselves. Otherwise I’m not doing it,” Crowley declared. The servant stood there looking baffled a minute longer, but eventually decided the commands of a prince who was present outweighed the vague edicts of a king and queen who weren’t, or at the very least decided it was above his station to make those kinds of calls, and left. Crowley had expected that to be the end of it. He certainly hadn’t expected his mom to show up less than an hour later, carrying the henna dye herself.

“I heard you were fussing about dyeing your hair; I thought you might like it better if I came to do it for you,” Mom said, smiling warmly at him.

Crowley stared, completely shocked to see her there. Mom and Dad had things to do, a country to run, eleven other of Crowley’s siblings to tend to. Mom didn’t have time to come sit with him and dye his hair. And yet there she was.

Just for a minute Crowley considered letting her do it. Then he remembered why he was refusing and crossed his arms. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she asked, busily readying the supplies.

“No, I’m not dyeing my hair,” Crowley repeated. “I refuse to and you can’t make me.”

Mom paused and looked at him. After a moment she sighed and sat down on couch, patting the seat next to her. Crowley stayed standing.

“Now, if it wasn’t just attention you were wanting, then what is all this about?” Mom asked.

“It’s about me not wanting to dye my hair,” Crowley said moodily.

Mom pressed her lips into a thin line. “You know your dad prefers to see it dyed.”

“But why?” Crowley demanded.

“Does it matter why? Isn’t it enough to do it because it’ll make him happy?” Mom asked.

“No. It’s my hair. It’s my life, and no one ever explains anything to me, and I want to know why,” Crowley insisted.

“Oh my darling.” Mom sighed, then held her arms open. “Come here.”

Crowley pulled his crossed arms in a little closer to his chest for a moment, then reluctantly dropped them and shuffled over to Mom. She hugged him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You know your dad only does the things he does because he cares about you and wants what’s best for you.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants, but he doesn’t care about the things _I_ want. Maybe I know what’s best for me,” Crowley said.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that,” she said. She ran her hand through his hair, then gently fingered the white stripe. “How about this? We’ll tell your dad you like the white because you think it makes you look distinguished. Boys are always so eager to grow up; I’m sure he’ll believe it.”

Crowley pouted. The white streak wasn’t what he cared about, not really. But it was more than he had expected to get when Mom had showed up. “Yeah, okay.”

**Nine Years After**

The sound of footsteps came echoing down the hallway to the library, and Aziraphale’s shoulders automatically tensed. They relaxed a moment later when he realized neither set matched Father’s heavy stride or Mother’s quick, no-nonsense gait. He would’ve had some sort of messenger alerting to him of their impending return anyway, if they genuinely were back. Strange how much Aziraphale could be anxious over their leaving, and then turn around and dread their return.

The footsteps stopped outside the library, and after two quick raps the door opened. On the other side was a man Aziraphale didn’t recognize. That was alarming in itself; Aziraphale could count on two hands, probably even just one, the number of people he’d seen that he didn’t recognize since the castle had been closed down nine years ago. But accompanying the man was their head of staff, what little of it there was, Madame Tracy, so Aziraphale could only assume the man’s presence was warranted. Presumably he had a very urgent and important message to deliver.

The man looked at him uncertainly, his expression painted with an emotion Aziraphale couldn’t identify. Aziraphale smiled, attempting to make it look friendly and welcoming and somewhat less like he was feeling overwhelmed at just the prospect of having to deal with a stranger. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The man gave a single jerky nod. “Prince Regent Aziraphale?”

Oh.

**Ten Years After**

Crowley bowed and kissed the air just above the princess of Franisatan’s hand. “Thank you for the dance,” Crowley said. It wasn’t all politeness this time; Princess Antonia was more graceful and far more willing to improvise than most people he had to dance with at these types of functions. It made the process actually somewhat enjoyable.

“Always a pleasure,” Princess Antonia said. She offered him a coy smile that contrasted wonderfully with the outrageously blatant way her eyes raked up and down his body. “Perhaps we continue the evening with a turn about the garden?”

It was in many respects a tempting offer. Princess Antonia was very attractive. She had a quick wit, a sharp tongue, and no reservations about going after what she wanted. She had also proven to be very flexible on the ballroom floor, something that would likely have interesting applications during a “walk” in the gardens. But in spite of that, Crowley didn’t find himself in the least bit tempted.

He took a step back and smiled at her to soften it. “I can’t. I’d get in trouble if I stepped out now.”

“What’s life without a little trouble?” she retorted. It was just the kind of thing Crowley could see himself saying, which actually made her less appealing somehow.

“I really can’t,” he said.

She shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Your loss,” she said then left, presumably in search of a more receptive conquest.

His pasted on smile faltered and fell. His loss indeed. Though probably not in the way she had meant.

**Eleven Years and Nine Months After**

Aziraphale’s finger slowly scrolled down the list of invitees to his upcoming coronation. In theory he was meant to be reviewing it for final approval, but if it hadn’t already been curated to perfection, he would be shocked. At the top were all the local nobility and other important people in Arendelle. Then royalty and nobility from countries Arendelle had close political or economic ties with, then others of the neighbours that they weren’t as closely aligned with, then countries they weren’t allied with, but couldn’t afford to offend…

Aziraphale stuttered to a stop when he read the next name on the list. The Southern Isles.

Unbidden his eyes drifted to his bottom desk drawer. Stuffed at the back of it in a neat bundle was a pile of letters, all unanswered, but read many, many times over. There had probably been even more written than had ever made it to their final destination. Aziraphale’s parents never would have approved of him having them if Madame Tracy hadn’t snuck them past. He could hardly imagine Crowley’s parents would have been any more thrilled by the correspondence; if anything they were likely to object even more strenuously. The last letter was from two and a half years ago, shortly after Aziraphale’s parents had died. The words on the page had been all about offering condolences for his loss, but the spaces between the lines hummed with a single unspoken question.

That last letter had nearly fallen apart with how much Aziraphale had read it and fretted over it. It probably would have, if Aziraphale weren’t long practiced at being careful with words on the page. He had wanted to reply to the letter so badly, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have control of his powers yet, and until he didn’t he could risk seeing Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t think he’d survive hurting him again.

He picked up his pen and placed the nib down on the paper next to the listing for the Southern Isles, intending to cross it out. Then he paused. Did he really need to go this far? After all, there was no way King Rigel would pick Crowley to be the one to attend if he agreed to sending someone at all. And Crowley wouldn’t push for it – he’d probably moved on and forgotten all about Aziraphale after he hadn’t received a reply to that last letter. Ultimately it would be very easy for the Southern Isles to make polite excuses to not attend, but considerably more difficult for Arendelle to come up with a polite reason for not inviting them.

Aziraphale set the pen down. He continued down the list and told himself firmly he wasn’t going to go looking into the bottom drawer. He made it through the rest of the list before he pulled the letters out to read again, so he was willing to count that as a win.

**Twelve Years and One Month After**

Crowley stood at the prow and looked out across the water. The wind ruffled his hair and clothing, and the ship rocked in the waves as they sailed ever closer to Arendelle.

“We’re not going to get there for another two days,” commented a voice over his shoulder.

Crowley scowled, but didn’t look back at his sister. “I know.” Beelzebub had been the compromise he’d had to make to get to go to coronation of Prince Regent Aziraphale. Dad had been adamant that no one needed to go, and if the Southern Isles did send a representative it most certainly wouldn’t be Crowley. Mom was the one who finally suggested Beelzebub as a chaperon, though why of everyone Beelzebub had been the one they’d chosen Crowley didn’t know. Granted, Lucifer – the only one of Crowley’s siblings with any real track record of success at getting Crowley to do anything he didn’t want to – was busy, but at least Dagon was responsible. Beelzebub was just as reckless as Crowley was, albeit in different ways.

“You’re acting like an idiot,” Beelzebub added.

“Yes, thank you, Beez, I am aware,” Crowley said. Beelzebub made a noise somewhere between annoyance and disgust, and then thankfully walked away.

Crowley did know he was being an idiot. It had been twelve years since he’d seen Aziraphale. They had been nine years old the last time they talked. Things changed. People changed. Maybe if they’d shared those years, had been given the chance to grow together it might be different. But they hadn’t, and now they probably wouldn’t even recognize each other anymore. There were times in the middle of night, lying cold and alone in his bed that Crowley doubted they’d ever actually had anything. Maybe they had been just two kids that became friends because of proximity and their parents’ expectations.

Those doubts never lasted through to the light of day, though. What they had had been real. And it two days, Crowley was going to do everything he could to get it back.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments melt a frozen heart! Or come hang with me on [tumblr.](https://nicnacsnonsense.tumblr.com/)


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